


The Body's Needs

by TheWritingSquid



Series: Disaster Dad [11]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Aquarium Day!, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Lady is also there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26813845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: Every other week, Dante tears off new pieces from his brother's Nelo Angelo armour, freeing body and memory alike. The process always leave Vergil out cold, struggling with a new flood of nightmares, his healing barely enough to keep him alive, however.---"The Body's Needs" is the Disaster Dad's Season 02, Episode 02. The series is about Vergil raising Nero post Temen-ni-gru, with Dante's eventual help.
Relationships: Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante & Trish (Devil May Cry), Dante & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Series: Disaster Dad [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1424623
Comments: 49
Kudos: 210





	1. Piece by Piece

**Author's Note:**

> A lot of the emotional weight of this piece is rooted in the series as a whole, so this one definitely holds better if you've read from the beginning. Otherwise, here is the core of what you need to know:  
> \- Vergil is trapped within Nelo Angelo's armour and has been for a few months. This isn't the first time to tear off pieces like this.  
> \- Trish helped them save him from Mundus.
> 
> That said, let's go!!!

Dante missed his brother.

The raw, burning feeling of loss tore through him as he stared at the man sitting in his bath, white hair pulled partly down to hide the blue scars running along his face, silent and hunched over. A dark armour covered his chest and legs, pulsing with corrosive power and entrapping the human inside, stealing his words and memories, locking away what had been left of Vergil. Some days the silent hunk of armour pretending to be his snippy, arrogant ass of a twin angered Dante more than he could explain.

It wasn’t fair of him, to think that. Vergil was in there fighting to stay at the surface, to be himself as much as he could, but in many ways that only made it harder for Dante. He wanted the full thing, wanted to go back to the before, to their fragile and loving brotherhood with all its spiky moments. Not that he had any illusion of that happening. Every time he removed a chunk of Vergil’s armour, his brother regained whole ass swaths of memory—and they haunted him, carving deep scars into his personality as surely as any piece of armoured crap.

Licks of power danced at Dante’s fingertips, his inner devil responding to his growing fury and producing tiny flames. It’d been happening more and more often, these days. When life’s bullshit had been directed at him, he’d let it slide over his shoulders, crammed more pizza into his mouth, and willed the shitty days away with long naps. Until Vergil and Nero had made it back into his life, it hadn’t seemed worth getting angry at the universe. He’d gone about dragging what fun he could out of this crappy existence while it lasted, sticking it up to demons more out of casual spite than anything else. Now, though… Now his anger simmered all the time, and it boiled up in little snaps of power he didn’t quite control. They had been happy, their little bizarro family, truly happy, and he would never forgive Mundus for shattering that. Except the dude was long dead now, and devoid of a target, Dante’s bottled up ire resurfaced through his own demon.

He clenched his fist, snuffing out the little flame. No point getting pissed off around Vergil. His bro needed happy, messy Dante to anchor himself, so he stapled a shit-eating grin on his lips and strode closer to the bath.

“Yo Vergil, ready for your big return into the world of pants?” He gave a shake to the loose black cotton pair he’d brought from home. “I even cleaned ‘em up, just for ya.”

Vergil’s head turned deliberately in his direction. He grimaced, and the mock disgust cleansed much of Dante’s bitterness.

“No amount of cleaning… your filth,” he croaked, adding a dismissive wave of his hand to his words.

Dante laughed, thrilled by how _Vergil_ this answer was. When his brother shone through the stoic mask of pain, spending what little energy he had on being a prim asshole, it reminded Dante of what they were fighting for, of things lost that could be regained. Vergil might never be the same, but he wasn’t gone, either.

He hopped into the bathtub, leaned over Vergil’s knees, and promptly shoved the pants right into his face. A strangled cry of surprise and frustration reached him through the fabric, then Vergil batted his arm away, growling. His jaw worked, and although no words followed, Dante’s mind filled the silence with memories of countless utterings of his name, his brother’s nasal voice filled with equal parts anger, warning, and love. He pulled the pants back and dropped them over the side.

“Sorry ‘bout all the filth over your face.”

Vergil rewarded him with the perfect glare, and Dante basked in it for precious seconds. It’d be gone all too soon—once Dante ripped these pieces of armour off, his brother’s world would transform into one of pain both real and remembered, and it’d be a long time before he returned to himself enough for these casual glares. Then he handed out the piece of wood that had become Vergil’s biter to stifle any scream, disrupting their brief bubble of shared peace. Vergil clasped thin fingers over it, a dark curtain falling over his gaze.

“Be… quick.”

“Always.”

As much for his sake as Vergil’s. If there had been any other way…

He glanced at his brother’s face again, cold determination shining in now-mismatched eyes lined with bruises from sleepless nights as Vergil placed the tiny piece of wood between his teeth and inhaled deeply, steeling himself.

There wasn’t another way. Dante had known that the moment he’d first offered, standing with his silent brother by the cliffside, the armour radiated cold, evil energy. They needed to strip Mundus’ hold on Vergil piece by piece until all that was left was a memory to spit upon, and the certainty they would always be safe, and together.

He clasped his fingers over the curved extension of Vergil’s armour, protecting his knee, and held the leg down with his other hand. Vergil did not look away, or close his eyes. He never did, and Dante could never bear to meet his gaze before he set to work. Too much guilt and anger; he didn’t want them eating away his smiles.

Without another moment’s delay, Dante pulled hard and fast on the armour.

He hated this instant most of all—Vergil’s sharp gasp as pain flared through him, the armour digging in Dante’s fingers, the sickening resistance of the black sludge clinging to his brother’s skin and the even worse ripping sound as it tore chunks of it. Malevolent demonic energy pulsed out of the armour, and it dug deeper in. Dante’s power responded in kind, energy flowing through him. His nails turned to claws under the nascent trigger, and he tore the leg guard fully off.

Blood sprayed Dante’s face and arm and the bathtub, and Vergil bent forward. The biter muffled his scream, but it did nothing to hide how his body clenched with pain, its agony contained to a deep shudder only through sheer willpower. Vergil stared ahead, his mind elsewhere, where he did not have to feel every inch of his shin burning, flayed by the armour’s removal. And of all the fucked up bits around the Nelo Angelo armour’s removal, Vergil’s singular ability to suffer unbearable agony in near silence, shattered dignity gathered around him like a shield, was perhaps the worst of it. It was all too easy to imagine when he’d honed that skill.

Blood dripping from his claws and scales running up his arm, Dante flung the armour away and moved to the upper half of the leg. Best get this done nice and quick (best get Vergil out of that headspace as fast as he could). He pulled, his stomach flip-flopping as he felt the spikes hooking the armour in tear their way out, destroying part of Vergil’s unhealthy composure in the process. Frail hands clenched Dante’s forearm, even though Vergil had not stopped staring ahead.

“We’re gettin’ there, bro.”

Power pulsed through Dante, fuelled by the bitter sense of injustice flooding him. It was bullshit, all bullshit—so much of their lives had been—and what did they get in exchange? Fucking demon forms? Pain and pain and pain, and a bunch of humans relying on them like they didn’t have their own shit to work through, and fuck but he wished he could go back to not caring, not really, but that just wasn’t an option, so he went on, grabbing Vergil’s second knee brace and tearing it off in a single, brutal yank. Vergil crumpled against him, the biter rolling to the bottom of the pool, his low moan the only proof he was anywhere close to consciousness.

He bled so much, even with the thin sheen of blue light from his returning healing, but Dante couldn’t stop, not anymore. Wings had sprouted off his back, energy flowed through him, and the pissed off demon inside of him demanded he kept going. He pulled off both boots, flinging them away and pointedly ignoring the clean hole left in Vergil’s heel, under disgusting sticky sludge, where the piece had been anchored to his body. (He hated it, hated all of this so much). Dante wrapped his wings around Vergil, steadying him as he clasped claws on the last piece of armour (heart sinking as Vergil’s power flickered, already struggling), and he ripped it off.

One last piece while Vergil jerked against him, his blood staining Dante’s scales, pooling in the bath beneath, slinking towards the drain.

Dante held him, eyes closed as he gave time for Vergil’s meagre healing to work and let his own whirlwind of power diminish. His form reverted to human as the last of his brother’s cold blue light vanished. They stayed immobile, silence once more claiming its due over the bathroom.

This was the most shit Dante had ever removed all at once—everything under Vergil’s hips was gone now, leaving spindly raw legs with more scars and blood than hair. Dante flicked the bathwater open, grabbed a towel, and started the second phase of these messed up evenings.

He wasn’t meant to be a caretaker—little Nero hadn’t even lived through six full years and already had more foresight than his sorry ass—yet every time Dante started washing away the blood and black ooze from Vergil’s freed body, he found a strange kind of comfort to the act. The world was quiet around them as he worked, starting with each toe (and he couldn’t help but play with the half-torn nails, making ‘em talk to one another) then moving up the feet and towards the ankle.

Every now and then, Vergil whimpered or gasped, and his body flinched as if he’d been hit. A lump tightened Dante’s throat, and he fought it the only way he knew how: he let the first notes of _Vivo per lei_ flow out of him, forcing them through the opening. His voice stayed low, a simple hum that served more for his comfort than anything, but as he hit the chorus and sang louder, Vergil relaxed in the bath. His breathing steadied, his forehead smoothed out, and his hands flattened on the bottom of the bath, in the pool of blood. Dante smiled. Good thing his obsessed nephew loved Andrea Bocelli and had made them listen to it without pause for months, huh? Now Dante knew the entire album by heart, and he was not afraid to go through every single song for Vergil’s comfort.

He had gone through most of the album and almost finished cleaning Vergil when a paper-thin, nasal voice asked “Is it… Christmas?”

Dante startled. With all the blood loss, he hadn’t expected Vergil to wake up at all, let alone to _remember Christmas_. His bro’s memories played hide and seek even at the best of times, so with his brain fucked from the armour removal… Dante grinned. All this bullshit was working, it had to be!

“It’s always Christmas in my heart,” he declared. “Pizza Christmas.”

Vergil groaned. He hadn’t moved from his position propped against the back of the bath, his legs stretched out in a thick puddle. Long seconds passed, and Dante was starting to think his twin had checked out again when he reopened his eyes. Bangs hid both of them almost completely, but Dante would swear the red in his right eye had lessened.

“You… take care of Nero?”

Dante’s stomach dropped and he pointed his clean-up sponge at Vergil. “Why the dramatics? You’re not dying.”

He failed to put all the levity needed in that last sentence (or maybe Vergil saw right through it) and his brother’s expression softened.

“No,” he said. “But I’m…” He frowned, his shoulders hunched, and he pressed his lips together for several long seconds. “The blood… I’m…”

Vergil trailed off again and his gaze unfocused. The glaze in his eyes told Dante all he needed to know. It wouldn’t be long before he’d be out like a light, and with his healing all burned out and the ridiculous amount of armour he’d torn away, who knew how long he’d stay like that? Dante squeezed Vergil’s knee, ignoring the bloodied and raw skin underneath his large palm.

“I’ll get Lady and Trish to help. You rest easy. Think of Christmas!”

The hint of smile curved Vergil’s lips. He gathered his energy and looked at Dante again, his usual sharp lucidity shining in his eyes once again, however briefly.

“Thank you, Dante.”

Words had become a rare currency for Vergil, even when he was rested. Every piece of armour removed helped get his cutting snark back, but for the most part his brother saved his energy for what mattered. The thanks… Dante knew it wasn’t just Nero. They never spoke at length of the time Dante put in cleaning his brother and the bath, of how impossible such a situation would have seemed to both of them, years ago when they stood in the stormy night atop the Temen-ni-gru. Mostly, this shit left Dante completed emptied out, like some weirdo demon had siphoned his emotions and left an empty husk behind. Too bad he wouldn’t get to nap all day to make up for it this time. Vergil was gone again, and Dante would have to be on his best behaviour to babysit Nero until his da’ was back in action. Good thing he knew just what the kid oughta do.

Dante rinsed the sponge off again and leaned harder on his brother’s knee, smiling. “By the time you’re back, Nero will talk your ear off about his adventures, just you see.”

Vergil offered no response, so Dante set to work once more, humming Andrea Bocelli while he planned for the next day.

###

Nero clambered into his father’s bed the moment Lady brought him back home, shoes and all (not that anyone would snitch to Vergil) and his hands fluttered above the chest’s armour plate. Dante watched his grin fade into a frown as the boy noticed Vergil was far from awake. He’d only gotten paler overnight, and his nightmares had returned in full force a few hours after Dante had dumped him back in his bed. Most of the time he only grunted, jerked, or whimpered, but he’d whispered Nero’s name once, around dawn—it’d escaped him like a plea, broken and miserable, and Dante did his best not to imagine the awful shit his bro was remembering. One thing was sure: he didn’t want Nero around while Vergil went through the worst of it. Poor kid endured enough fucked up shit already, he didn’t need to hear his father beg for him like that.

“I don’t think he’ll come around any time soon, kiddo,” Dante said, “but look, we got a lot of the armour off!”

With forced cheer, he picked Nero up and moved him to the legs, now completely free of any piece of armour. Nero gasped (maybe from joy, maybe from the reddish patches of stripped skin, barely healed), then he slapped his tiny palm on Vergil’s pink calf.

“Da’ has legs again!” he said, and he grinned at Dante.

“His own legs, yeah! I had to pop out the armour and plug these back in, like a doll.”

Nero’s eyes widened in horror and his mouth made the most adorable little ‘o’, and Dante couldn’t hold down his laugh. His nephew’s revolted incredulity melted away, replaced by a scowl.

“Zio!” He served Dante a deadly glare as he scolded him, the expression almost as chilling as his father’s. If it hadn’t been for his childish pout, Dante might have taken it seriously, but as it was, he only laughed harder, letting himself flop on the bed.

“Sorry Nero, I couldn’t help it.”

Nero climbed on Dante’s now bare chest (he’d thrown his bloodied shirt in the bath, which he hadn’t bothered to clean yet), spreading his palms on his pecs to hold himself steady as he stared his zio down. It’d been a while since Nero had done that, and damn the kid had grown a few size biggers since. His legs had barely encircled his abs when he’d been a toddler trying to strike Dante’s forehead with his trusted black marker while avoiding his uncle’s tickling fingers, and now he firmly straddled him, all grown up.

“I will tell the Lady you lied to me.”

“No need, Nero,” Lady said. She leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “I heard every moment of it.”

Dante raised his hands in surrender, palms out. “Please don’t punish me! I’ll make up for it, I will!” He let his tone slide into a dramatic plea and grabbed Nero’s forearms as if in supplication. “O lord of fishes, please, forgive me. As penance, I will bring you… to the aquarium.”

Nero frowned. “Zio, was is ‘penan—’” He cut himself short with a gasp, big blue eyes widening as he screeched. _**“The aquarium?!”**_

Nero scrambled off Dante, digging a knee deep in his stomach on his way out. He jumped on the bed repeatedly, screaming _**“Fishies!”**_ at the top of his lungs, and between the rocking mattress and the noise, it was a miracle Vergil didn’t wake up. If Dante ever needed proof he was out for good… Dante sat up and caught his nephew mid-jump, at which point Nero just flung his arms around his neck.

“We’re going to see the fishies!”

He started kicking his feet (which meant he was kicking Dante, and dangerously close to his groin at that). If this level of energy hinted at his state all day… Dante needed help, and fast. He met Lady’s gaze and she shook her head at him.

“It’s _your_ penance.”

Nero squirmed in his grasp, eager to get back to the floor and start jumping, which made Dante’s attempts at a casual shrug much more difficult. “Bath’s not clean yet, if ya don’t wanna come.”

Lady scowled at him. “You’re the worst.”

“I’d stay and help, but...” Dante grabbed Nero and lifted him up on his shoulders. “Try and tell Nero he’s gotta wait two hours before the fishes.”

 _“The worst,”_ she repeated.

He grinned and walked past her, Nero riding on his shoulders, clapping his hands as he blabbered on about his favourite types of fish and all the cool stuff he’d seen when he’d first visited with Vergil. It’d been over a year now, but that seemed forever ago to Dante.

“Hey Nero, ya think Trish wants to see the fishes? She’s never been to an aquarium.”

Nero gasped. _“Never?”_

“Unless she went and never told you. But she wouldn’t do that.”

She totally would. He had no idea what Trish did with most of her time, besides hit the clubs with Lady or join their demon hunts. He’d asked, only to get an evasive “everything humans do”. As far as he knew, she still hadn’t found a pizza type tasting the way the word did to her, though, so clearly she hadn’t experienced the full breadth of humanity.

“Zio, we _**must**_ bring her.”

Excellent. Now he had backup to help with Nero, too! The kid would want to show Trish all of his favourite fishes, and they could split the time being dragged from one fish tank to another by this forceful little human between them. Dante grinned as he promised to call her, and that only widened as he caught Lady’s exasperated and impressed glare, proof she saw through his maneuver clearly. He’d pay for that, sooner or later—stray bullets on a hunt, interrupted naps, boring jobs “meant for him”... Lady had her ways.

For now, however, he had a beautiful day ahead of him and by the time they’d be back, Nero would have his head full of fish facts to share with his Da’ and probably talk his ear off until they both fell asleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made art for it. :D [Follow the link!](https://twitter.com/writingsquid/status/1312735428278190080)


	2. The Body's Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trish had her morning all planned out, a big egg-tasting buffet before her... until Dante arrives, Nero in tow, to drag her to the aquarium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, what if we had an entire chapter from Trish's POV? :D

Trish stared at the five plates in front of her, all with eggs cooked in a different manner. Humans had a fascinating imagination when it came to preparing their nourishment, and every now and then she couldn’t help but obsess over one food or another, and try out a wide range of variants. She’d been around for more than a season (which was three months, each of them with thirty or thirty one days in it—human time counting was _weird_ ). Some things hadn’t changed all that much in her life, compared to the underworld: she still went out on missions to kill demons, though the ones here were a lot weaker, and she still didn’t really know who she was.

Being aware of the latter made the biggest difference, however: now she spent her days figuring it out! Months in a human city had taught her a few things, at least. She _still_ didn’t get poetry, but Lady said that was totally normal and Vergil’s obsession with it made him the odd one, not the other way around. She liked fun, and her idea of fun involved physical stuff: dancing, fighting, sex. She’d learned to be careful about the last one, though. Humans had developed hundreds of secret rules and hang-ups about it, and they made it unnecessarily weird more often than not. Which was really too bad, but since she was apparently not allowed to zap overly aggressive men unhappy with her, Trish figured it was better to opt out on most occasions, especially if she didn’t have Lady with her to offer subtle thumbs up when she thought Trish should go ahead.

She also enjoyed food a whole damn lot. Dante had been right about that one. Eating might be unnecessary, but it was fun, especially when the food tried to burn her whole mouth to the ground. Demons in the underworld only played with their food in the predator sense, dragging hunts out for the thrill of it—which, fair, she enjoyed that too. But it had never occurred to her to try and put different stuff together to change the taste before Dante spread out half a dozen pizzas before her and they devoured each.

She hoped this egg tasting session would be just as enjoyable. The word itself had this weird sulfuric taste, which interestingly enough, the eggs sometimes smelled like, too. Regular fried eggs with runny yolks hadn’t tasted like it, but she wondered if any of these recipe would.

In front of her spread five plates: one with hard-boiled quail eggs dipped in cumin and sea-salt, a second held the japanese omurice, its golden top partly covered in ketchup, a third a western-style spinach omelette, a fourth the shakshouka, its bright red tomato-based mix a contrast with other meals, and finally a big bowl of custard, for which she’d bought a bunch of biscuits. 

Trish shoved the shakshouka in her plate first and was about to slip a first bite between her lips when someone hammered at her door. She stared at it, frowning. No one knew her or near enough, but sometimes perfect strangers had knocked at Lady’s when she’d lived there. Maybe someone wanted to sell her cheap chocolate? Would that be any good with the eggs?

“What’s that fancy breakfast smell coming through?” Dante’s voice came through the door. “Ya gonna share, Trish?”

He would not be selling chocolate, for sure.

“Miss Demon, we see the fishes with you!”

The second voice surprised her even more. He’d brought the son with him? What was that about fishes? Trish set down her fork with a sigh, unfurling from her seat. She was at the door in a flash, and the moment she opened it, Dante slid inside, red coat flapping behind him. He always had that thing on, even if he varied the vests and shirts he put beneath.

“I’m starving,” he declared. “Could eat the whole aquarium with that hole in my stomach. Ya got any pizza?”

“Only eggs.” 

She gestured at the plates, too confused by their talk of ‘aquarium’ and fishes to think the movement through. Dante took it as an invitation, swept her plate and fork up, and scooped half of her food into it. It seemed to vanish into his mouth before she could comprehend his speed and actions, and she set her hands on her hips.

“Eat it all, why don’t you?” she said. Sarcasm was another of these human things she’d quickly grown into.

Dante shoved more into his belly then lowered the plate, mouth still full. “Didn’t know ya liked eggs,” he said, words muffled by the destroyed quiche he was still eating.

“Neither did I,” she said, “and I won’t know now.”

That stopped him, and he looked sheepish for about a second before he said “this shit’s great” and kept eating. 

A small hand tugged at hers, and she looked down to meet Nero’s bright eyes. “Miss Demon, can I eat too before we go?”

At least _he_ asked. She gestured at her egg buffet, any hopes of a slow tasting session annihilated by Dante’s quick slurping of all plates. Nero dashed forward and pulled at his uncle’s coat until Dante found him a plate too. She watched in silence. It’s not like she needed to eat, anyway.

“Where are we going?” she asked once Nero sat on a chair with his plate. He was staring at the omurice with obvious admiration, which baffled her until she remembered Vergil spent most days out of commission, and Dante couldn’t cook for shit.

Dante miraculously took the time to swallow before he answered. “The aquarium.”

How helpful. A word she’d never heard before today. Trish raised her eyebrows and waited, but he went back to eating first, shoving large spoonfuls of omelette in his mouth. Several long seconds passed before he realized she still had no idea what he was talking about, and he gulped down all he'd ingested.

“It’s, huh… like a museum for fishes.” Museums were also a very vague concept to her, but this time Dante caught on quick. “It’s full of big water tanks in which they keep all kinds of fishes and, huh.. Marine life… and huh…”

He trailed off and turned towards Nero. The kid was more than happy to fill in. “They got big fishes that live very deep and little rays and sharks you can pet, and last time there was a giant octopus but it stayed hidden in its tank, so we never got to see it. There’s a river area and a sea area and it’s all very pretty, Miss Trish!”

That had to be the most words she’d heard Nero say. Vergil had told her once his son could be very passionate, but he stayed quiet around her. “So you… look at them?”

Nero nodded eagerly. “Yes! There are little panels too. Da’ read them to me, so I would know about the fishes. You should read them too.”

Trish’s gaze went from Dante to Nero, then back to Dante. It puzzled her that they’d sought her for this strange endeavour—she had never shown any interest in aquatic life, safe perhaps to eat it. Baffling as it was, she could not help being touched by it. Staring at fishes and reading about them didn’t sound remotely like her definition of fun, but she could leave if it became too boring. Until then, Nero’s enthusiasm intrigued her. She’d yet to grasp why Vergil was so enamored with his little human. The son could be funny, true, and he showered everyone with love, but on most days he seemed more trouble than anything else. Humans did that, though: they tied their souls to one another. As much as Trish enjoyed their company, she didn’t know if she could ever care _that_ deeply. 

She focused back on Nero, staring at her with big pleading eyes that always worked on Vergil. Human children had a way about them, and as ridiculous as this plan sounded, she found herself saying, “To the aquarium, then.”

Nero cheered, and soon enough the eggs-based buffet had been cleaned out, and they were on their way out.

###

Conclusion: aquarium bored her. Had Trish been alone, she’d have gone through those halls in an hour, at most. It didn’t matter how pretty the environment in each tank was, the inside still was just a bunch of fishes swimming around, with the occasional crab or whatever. Why these all made Nero gasp and point and squeal was completely beyond her, but he sure was having the time of his life—which really was the most amusing part of this trip. She had never truly grasped the meaning of “Nero loves fish” until each ugly little swimming creature brought stars to his eyes and a grin to his lips. The son dragged Trish along between tanks, pointing out which fish matched the images on his panels as if she could not figure it out on her own, and frequently stopped to ask which was her favourite, only to go on and indicate his without ever giving her time to answer. Not that she had a favourite, anyway.

Dante followed along at a leisurely pace, and more than once she found him casually flirting with other visitors instead of paying attention to the fish tanks or his nephew. It only ever worked until the person he sweet-talked glanced towards the white-haired boy exclaiming loudly, saw the leather-clad chick along with him, and laughed at Dante’s mirth-threaded “my nanny” as an explanation. Trish would snort, waving enticingly at him whenever the attention was on her, throwing in a wink every now and then.

The little game kept her distracted to some extent, rendering the whole painstakingly slow walk through the aquarium more entertaining, shoring her up until her first real surprise. As it turned out, once in front of the cylindrical water tank full of glowing jellyfish, Trish _could_ find a favourite. First, their names didn’t have the same foul taste on her tongue as most others, but a sweeter, acidic one. Second, the panel said these little things could zap anyone tangling up in their tendrils, and for a time she fancied her hair with that texture. She let the blonde strands flatten and grow translucent, making a soft light course through it in sync with the changing colour of the tank. Nero stared at her, his mouth a big circle for long seconds before he grabbed her arm.

“Miss Trish, can I touch? Will it zap me?” He reached up, half-ready to climb into her hair. 

She laughed and dropped the transformed hair; humans were staring. “Later.”

In fact, she’d want to do that where she could look in a mirror. Perhaps she’d enjoy the jellyfish hair more than this long blonde Mundus had shoved on her. She liked it well enough, but that might only be force of habit more than real preference.

They stayed in the jellyfish area longer than most, watching the lightning colour change in uncharacteristic silence. The slow rhythm of their swim had a calming effect on her. She’d been dashing through life at neck breaking speed since her arrival in the human world, but here were these little translucent blobs, simply _chilling_ , as Dante would put it. That was something else she hadn’t considered. Mundus was dead. No clock ticked in the background of her life: she probably had a long lifespan ahead of her (probably). How she’d manage that without getting royally bored, however… well, that made one more thing to discover about herself, didn’t it? But maybe learning to slow down was part of her answer.

The three of them moved from there towards the ray petting pool once Nero returned from a bathroom break, and she got to hear all about how he would one day win the Olympics of biggest poop. She couldn’t help asking what those were.

“They’re sports. The best sports!” Nero exclaimed. “So I’ll make the biggest poops.”

His determination amused her, but it left one rather big question: “It’s that much effort?”

Digestion was another of those things Mundus hadn’t put together right in her. She didn’t need food for energy, and while she enjoyed the act of eating, her body never quite treated it the same. Most days it just vanished, but she would never forget Lady laughing herself to tears through the bathroom door as she provided commentary on what happened when the food did not, in fact, dissipate. It had been… unsettling, but certainly not physically exhausting.

“The big ones are,” Nero declared with utmost conviction. “Don’t you have big ones, Miss Trish?”

The booming strength of Dante’s laugh might have shaken the water tanks surrounding them. He dropped a big hand on his nephew’s head, ruffling his hair, while Trish shrugged.

“You’ll have to show me what counts as big, Nero.”

He pouted and looked back towards the washrooms, then offered a solemn nod. “Next time! I will make Da’ call.”

Dante’s heartfelt laugh turned into a choke and a wheeze, and when she glanced in his direction, she noticed the tears at the corner of his eyes. “Make… Vergil… call…” he repeated, and the expansive, booming sound returned, to Nero’s obvious confusion and many fellow visitors’ irritation. He was still laughing by the time they reached the ray petting area, and snickered about it at regular intervals all the way back home. The humour was lost on Trish, but she loved the honest and spontaneous sound of Dante’s laugh as much now as she had upon first hearing it, and it washed away the last regrets she’d had about this trip. 

The aquarium was boring; the company was not—and wasn’t that what had first set her down this path? She had been fascinated by Vergil, charmed by Dante, curious about Nero… Demons threatened and crushed and killed, but the framing of their interaction had always been limited by who dominated the other—who had power, and who didn’t. Humans offered so many more ways to connect and play off one another, and through that uniqueness, she’d found the most simple, exhilarating truth: her interior was unique, too. Lightning fast, impulsive, playful, and powerful, she had nothing to envy to human emotions and complexity—if anything, they should envy _her_ for the unattainable level of amazing she exuded.

It occurred to her that despite looking like Sparda’s human wife, what she experienced _now_ must be far more akin to what he had, two thousand years ago. And just like him, she’d defied Mundus to live alongside humans. The old knight had gotten it right: these people were much more fun alive than dead, and she’d rather bless them with her presence than wipe them out and die of boredom soon after. Not that Trish expected the latter anywhere in her near future: Vergil’s janky little family could liven up even the most dreadful activities, and she intended to stick around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably a good thing it took me so long to finish up this one, cause the mood whiplash between it and the previous one is certainly something. XD


End file.
